Come Home
by Alauda Blue
Summary: Mother Earth's plans change forever the life of an ordinary girl. Whether she wants to or not, she will face new dangers, troubles, friends, and family as the newly created personification of Washington D.C. Meanwhile, Russia is suspiciously intrigued by America's young capital, and America will have to deal with the unexpected responsibilities of being an older brother.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a fanfic that I never really intended to publish, but on the off-chance someone else is interested in reading it, I thought I'd post it here. Even if nobody likes it I still intend to finish this story for my own enjoyment, but I won't torture the public by updating it on here. So let me know what you think! Please be honest- writers have to have tough skins, after all. I need to know if I'm writing a Mary Sue, and if I am, how I can change that. But don't limit your criticisms to my characters. Anything at all that bothers you, please let me know about. The reason I'm on this website it to have fun and improve my writing.**

 **Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter One

It was a dreary afternoon in late August. The sky was overcast and grey. Light rain drizzled down periodically, aiding the mood of general monotony outside. Already, the weather was beginning to cool in the small town of Aucilla, Michigan. A chilly breeze ensured that anyone who stepped outdoors wore long sleeves instead of the t-shirts they'd favored all summer. It was only a matter of two weeks before school started back, to the great dread of some students and the great joy of others.

Margaret Leon wasn't sure how she felt about the imminent return of fall. She liked her classes well enough and she was proud of her straight A's, but she'd been enjoying her summer off and was in no hurry for it to end. After all, it was probably the last summer she'd ever have to completely relax with no work or responsibilities to think of. The school year would be hard and long- especially with how she characteristically studied- and the next summer would be spent finding her first job. She was at the age now where pocket money was becoming a necessity, but with no allowance to speak of, she would have to earn anything she wanted to spend.

Regardless of how she did or did not feel about it, summer was drawing to a close, and Margaret was determined to make the most of her last few days of freedom. Although, her definition of that probably varied from what most teens preferred. At the moment her ambitious plan to "seize the day" involved curling up in the window seat with a good book, a soft blanket, and a tall glass of lemonade. No one was bothering her, the house was quiet, and she was in her equivalent to paradise.

Her book, which told the story of a romantic adventure, only succeeded in holding her attention for the first few chapters. Almost without her realizing it, her thoughts gradually turned away from the words on the page. Margaret gazed idly out the window, daydreaming. She watched as a single leaf fell from the branches of the tall maple tree in her front yard, swirling in the wind until it came to rest gently on her windowsill. Rain pattered down harder and she heard the distant rumble of thunder. A real storm was brewing in place of the light showers that had graced the day so far.

She smiled to herself and was about to return to her reading, when she was stopped by a voice.

 _"Margaret."_

Glancing up with an automatic reply on her lips, she faltered as she realized no one was standing there. Looking warily around the living room, she could see no one in it with her, but the voice had sounded as if it were coming from right next to the window seat.

"Mom?" she called hesitantly. "Was that you?"

No reply. Margaret was reminded that her parents were away shopping and her sister, Kate, was at a friend's house. For all intents and purposes she had the house to herself for several hours. Had someone come home early?

"Kate? Did you want something?"

Again, no reply. Slightly unnerved, Margaret told herself sternly that it was nothing and went back to her book.

 _"Margaret!"_

The voice came again, more urgent than before but still just as close. Margaret froze with a spike of alarm. She couldn't see anyone else in the room with her, but could not dismiss what she had heard a second time. Even more frightening was the fact that the voice sounded like a stranger's. Now she could identify it as a deep male timbre, unlike her father's or any man that she knew. Dropping her book and standing up, she walked slowly around the room and searched fruitlessly for any possible source of what she had heard.

"Who are you?" she asked in a small voice, all at once terrified and embarrassed to speak to thin air.

 _"I am Ancient Rome."_

Momentarily struck speechless at actually receiving a reply, Margaret almost ran screaming right then and there. Later, she would have no idea why she did not.

"What do you want?" she inquired timidly. The voice did not sound aggressive, but she'd seen enough horror movies to know how fast that could change.

The invisible speaker who claimed to be Rome answered immediately.

 _"I wish only to show you something. Would you care to come with me briefly? You will lose but a moment in this world."_

"O- okay?"

And with that one uncertain decision, her life changed forever.

She was blinded by an abrupt, blinding white light that faded as quickly as it came. When she could see again, it was not her living room that she saw. She was standing in the middle of a vast, rolling golden field that stretched as far as the eye could see to all horizons. She gasped in awe, entranced by the grandeur beauty of the landscape around her. The sky was spread infinite and wide above her, sharp blue and without a cloud in sight. The sun shone down brilliantly from overhead, and the tall wild grass rippled like waves in the cool wind. Never before had Margaret beheld open prairie such as this.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" The voice of Rome sounded behind her.

Spinning around, Margaret came face-to-face with the great Roman Empire. He stood tall and imposing, dressed in full Roman armor. He looked as if he'd stepped out of a history book. Despite his intimidating stature, his sparkling brown eyes and kind, cheerful face, framed with messy brown hair, calmed her fears somewhat. His friendly countenance put her enough at ease that she was able to reply sensibly rather than panicking.

"It's beautiful," she said truthfully. "Where are we?"

"This is the Waiting Realm. I and the other nations who have passed on from the living world cannot go to heaven, yet- not until the Final End. So, this land is where we wait until the end of time."

"Nations? You are the nation of Ancient Rome?" Margaret asked hesitantly, not wanting to offend but having difficulty comprehending what she had been told.

"Yes. I am the human representative and personification of the Roman Empire. There are others like me, for every nation that has ever been. Some have passed from the living world to this one, such as I have done. But there are many others who still live in your world, for as the nations of old die, the new ones are born."

Margaret was silent for a moment, processing what she had heard and taking it all in.

"Why have you brought me here and told me all of this? Obviously- assuming I'm not hallucinating or having an incredibly vivid dream- this isn't common knowledge for humanity."

Rome laughed. "You're a sharp one. I like you, and despite what the others say I think you'll do just fine."

"Others?"

"Hmm, yes. The Ancients, who have all passed on to this land, have come to a… sort of… unanimous decision. And by that, I mean everyone who matters has agreed. All others have been ignored." Rome sounded smug.

Margaret couldn't help but snort with laughter. What Rome had described sounded suspiciously like her own family's decision making. Rome grinned at her.

"I see you are familiar with how 'family democracy' works. Well, our final decision was that I would be the one to inform you of your new situation, although certain other people weren't happy about it. For some reason Native America didn't trust me not to scare you. I didn't, did I?" He looked expectantly at Margaret.

"Uh, well…" Margaret hesitated. He _had_ been kind of scary…

Rome looked downcast. "I did, didn't I? Sorry…"

"You were only a little creepy," Margaret told him, attempting to reassure.

"Right... Well then, too business." Rome sighed and bowed his head momentarily, clearly gathering his thoughts. His expression was dead serious as he raised his head again and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Margaret Leon," he began gravely. "The world is coming- has come- into a new modern era. To face it in both peace and prosperity, the nations of the world must come together, and the United States of America will play a lead role. It is already happening. Because the nation of America will be so influential in the modern world, the heart of his country will as well. The capital, Washington D.C., will need strength and unity like never before.

To help it in its stand, Mother Earth has decided to do something that has never been done before. A land is always stronger with a personification, and a people are always more united when they have a worthy representative. With that reasoning, Mother Earth has decreed that America's capital will have a human personification.

The creation of a personification is a complicated thing. Every land and people united under one banner has a… spirit, if you will. The national personifications were chosen by these spirits and are their bearers. Mother Earth can declare when a personification will be made, but cannot choose who will become that personification. The spirit of the land and people does that, and chooses for its own reasons that none of us quite know. I was once an ordinary human, but was chosen by the spirit of my people, and thus became the nation of Rome."

Rome went quiet, before speaking again.

"Yesterday at the stroke of midnight, the spirit of Washington, District of Columbia, chose a bearer. That person has become the representative and personification of America's capital city. You, Margaret Leon, are that person."

No.

No, this couldn't be true.

"But I've never even been to Washington D.C.!" she protested. Rome shrugged.

"It matters not."

Margaret reeled in shock. She had seen it coming almost as soon as Rome had started talking about the creation of a personification, but half-suspecting something is not the same as hearing it said aloud as surely as if set in stone.

 _I can't do this._

 _I'm not good enough._

 _I'm just a kid!_

She must have said it out loud, or else her thoughts were seen clearly on her face, for Rome immediately swept her into a giant bear hug. Margaret stiffened, shocked at the unexpected contact. No one ever hugged her at home…

She gradually relaxed into his arms and allowed herself some comfort in it, although she was far from recovered. Fear twisted in her gut unlike anything she'd ever known. What would this mean? What would her life be like now? She was responsible for human lives now. Could she handle that? She didn't even know what to do!

"This isn't fair," she mumbled. "Not to America. Not to Washington D.C. Not to the world! I'm just a silly teenaged girl. I won't be able to do anything good."

Rome pulled back and looked at her sorrowfully.

"I know," he said. "It is unfair, but not to the world. Unfair to you. You are still but a child, in the age of nations. I forgot that too easily. I am sorry. I should have broken the news to you softer..."

"No," she said. "You told me what I needed to know. I appreciate that."

He frowned. "You must remember child, you are not _just_ a silly teenaged girl. Although, you are being silly now. You are the great District of Columbia! You are Washington D.C.! The spirit of your people would not have chosen you if you were unable. I will not lie, you have much to fear. The universe is cruel for putting you in this position. But you are smart and strong, and you will conquer! I have confidence. After all, as the Roman Empire, I think I am qualified to recognize the beginnings of greatness."

Margaret had to grin bashfully at the unexpected pep talk, although the gnawing doubts remained.

"Can I go home?" She needed time alone. This was all becoming too much.

"Certainly! Although, before you go…" He fished around in his pocket for something and withdrew a small, silver compass that dangled from a chain necklace.

"The other Ancients assisted in its creation," Rome said proudly as he put it around her neck. "You'll figure out what it does later."

"Thank you," Margaret said sincerely, giving him a tremulous but real smile.

He beamed.

"Alright then, that's everything! I'll be seeing you again someday. Goodbye!"

The white light came again almost instantly, leaving Margaret barely enough time to respond likewise before she was left standing alone in the center of her living room. A clap of thunder startled her out of her shocked daze. Looking down, she fingered the small compass that hung from the chain draped around her neck. She could not deny the solidness of the trinket, meaning that…

"Good God, it actually happened," she breathed.

Sinking to her knees, she cradled her head in her hands. The panic attack that she had been struggling to keep at bay now rushed over her all at once. Hot tears splashed down her cheeks, and as Margaret trembled and struggled to breathe, she wondered distantly if this meant she would have to leave her family. Would she have to move to Washington? Would she meet the personification of America? How would she explain to everyone- ?

The minutes ticked by, and slowly her hyperventilation ceased. Pulling herself back together, Margaret rose to her feet and went to the bathroom. She washed her tear-streaked face and ignored her shaking hands. She would act as if nothing had changed. She would tell no one. Maybe, just maybe, she could still have a normal life. At least for a little while longer. It wasn't like she was desperately needed in Washington anyway. And it wasn't like she could even get there if she wanted to. Nodding to herself in the mirror, Margaret went back out of the bathroom with new assurance. She would watch TV. She would read a book. She would greet her family normally when they came back home, and everything would be just fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here is the next chapter. I'm surprised I got it up so fast. Anyway, a major shout-out to Katgirl129 for being the first to review! It made my day. Katgirl, I'll be sure to check out your story whenever I have time.**

 **By the way, does anyone know what to do if you can't read your Traffic Stats? I've had this problem for days and I keep getting the same error message on whatever device I use.**

 **I hope you enjoy the story!**

Chapter Two

Her family suspected nothing. Margaret did not know if she was glad or depressed by this realization. Either she was a far better actress than she'd thought (unlikely), or her family payed a dismal amount of attention that evening (unfortunately, a far more likely scenario). Regardless, dinner was a short and awkward affair. Kate prattled on and on for the entirety of the meal, recounting in excruciating detail how she and her best friend, Amy, had met up with the rest of their gang earlier that day and goofed off for the majority of the afternoon. About three years ago, the Leon family had moved to Michigan from Kentucky, and since then Kate had been able to make a lot of friends. Before the move, Kate had been as shy, introverted, and awkward as Margaret still was. Afterwards, rather like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon, Kate emerged from her shell and was rewarded with several good new friends. Because of this, Kate was naturally still a bit giddy at having a crowd she could get along with, and would gush about them and their various adventures together for ages if given the chance.

Margaret was genuinely glad for her younger sister, but she could only listen to the latest news about Kate's social life for so long before her smile became a little strained. Although, she decided she should consider herself lucky that Kate still thought about her and wanted to talk to her. Even though they weren't the best friends they used to be growing up- and probably never would be again- at least the sisters didn't have a bad relationship. With that thought in mind, Margaret made sure to always respond with at least feigned interest whenever Kate started talking about her friends.

That evening, however, it was proving especially difficult. Margaret couldn't bring herself to smile, or even eat much of anything, although she did try. Her parents, too engaged in their own conversation about bills and grocery shopping, didn't notice her unusually dejected mood. To her credit, Kate was aware that something was off, and would have said something except she forgot all about it when desert was mentioned. Margaret did the dishes silently and alone after dinner, and put them out to dry when she was finished. She only spoke a few necessary words to her family as they went about their evening routine. For once in her life, bedtime couldn't come quickly enough. At last darkness fell, and when it was late enough for her to retire for the night without raising suspicion at her unusual behavior, she made her way upstairs to her small bedroom. She shut and locked the door behind her.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the silver compass Rome had given her as she flopped down onto her bed. Raising it into the air above her, she fingered it and turned it this way and that, letting the light reflect off of it from different angles. She'd already inspected it thoroughly. An intricate picture of the world was engraved on the outside of the lid on the compass. It was quite pretty, Margaret thought. The only other thing about the compass out of the ordinary was a single sentence, written on the inside of the lid in a flowing, old-fashioned cursive. Margaret had read it for the first time after opening up the compass during her initial scrutiny, and now had it memorized.

 _Eight times only, and use them well._

Whatever that was supposed to mean. Sighing, Margaret hid the compass under her pillow and got ready for bed. As she turned the lights out and snuggled into the covers, Margaret wondered if a good night's sleep would make her feel any better. She hoped so. To say the day had been long and draining was the understatement of the century. Her last conscious thought before she drifted off into a deep sleep was to wonder if she would ever see Rome again.

It was well past midnight when she was awoken by her bedroom lights flickering on, a soft and feminine voice.

"Get up, child."

Blearily lifting her head slightly to see who was speaking, Margaret met the gaze of a pair of sharp, brown eyes. No one in her family had brown eyes. Instantly alert, she sat up and gawked at the beautiful Native American woman standing at the side of her bed.

"How- who? Wait. You're Native America, aren't you?" she stammered, her mind racing and her pulse quickening. Native America smiled kindly.

"That's right, dear. No need to be afraid, I've come here to help you," the Ancient said.

Margaret relaxed marginally and curiously observed her unexpected guest. Native America was dressed in the traditional robes of one of her tribes, although Margaret couldn't identify which one. Her long jet black hair was pulled back and braided, with a few feathers woven in. Like Rome, she looked as if she'd stepped right out of a history book.

"Rome had to take me to his world before he could appear," Margaret noted. "How come you're here?"

"I, unlike Rome, know the proper magic," Native America said with a scoff. "I knew we shouldn't have sent that imbecile. If the others had let me come, we could've told you everything you needed to know without making you leave your home."

"No, it's alright," Margaret defended her acquaintance. "Rome was nice, and I actually liked visiting the Waiting Realm. It was stunning landscape."

Native America sighed in slight disapproval.

"Well, no matter. My purpose in coming here is to show you how to use the compass Rome gave you. He wanted you to figure it out by yourself, but the thing doesn't exactly come with instructions."

"Yes, if you could show me that would be nice," Margaret said quickly. A demonstration on how to use it would certainly cut back on time and frustration. Native America nodded, and then apologized.

"I'm sorry about the late hour, but I thought if you were going to leave it would be best to do it at a time when you're less likely to be missed."

"I'm leaving? To go where?" Margaret asked warily.

"Didn't Rome tell you? The compass is a magical link between your home and Washington, D.C. You can use it to travel back and forth instantly between the two."

Margaret brightened.

"Hey, it's like a portkey from Harry Potter!"

"Something like that, I suppose," Native America said in amusement. "There's enough power in the compass to last for eight trips. After that, the magic will run out and it will be a regular, powerless trinket."

"So that's what the warning on the inside is for," Margaret realized.

"Of course," Native America confirmed, before her tone and attitude abruptly switched to something more than a little bossy, and almost motherly.

"Now, get dressed in something suitable. It had better be comfortable, good for walking long distances… and of course, you'll want it to be nice enough so that you're not embarrassed to be seen in it. And don't dally. There's only so many hours of the night left before you'll need to be back here, and you'll want all the time you can get to explore. You and I are going to the city of Washington."

Excitement coursed through Margaret and she practically leapt out of bed. She thought perhaps her predicament wasn't so bad if it meant she could have secret adventures like this one to break the monotony of her daily life, but immediately felt a twinge of guilt afterwards. She shouldn't be happy about any of this. It was very bad news for not only Margaret, but for the nation of America as well if the security of D.C. was dependent on her, a simple and introverted teenaged girl. She couldn't forget that she now had a lot of important responsibility on her shoulders that she would rather not have. Still, Margaret couldn't keep any sort of downcast mood for long when she was about to go see the capital for the first time ever.

"Um, you'll wait in here, right?" Margaret asked uncertainly as she was about to walk past Native America to reach her closet.

"Naturally," the Ancient responded, and took a seat on the bed.

Margaret entered her closet and hastily selected the first outfit that came to mind fitting all of Native America's criteria. She pulled out a pair of dark, bootcut blue jeans and a bright red T-shirt with a large picture of the American flag proudly portrayed on the front. She figured something patriotic was only appropriate for her first trip to the capital, and besides it was one of her favorite shirts. Rushing back out, she went to her bedroom door and cautiously opened it a crack, peeking out. When no one else in the house showed any signs of stirring, Margaret snuck quietly out into the hallway and made her way carefully past her parents' and sister's bedrooms to the bathroom. Once inside, she changed rapidly. She frantically attempted to tame her wavy mass of brown hair, and failed spectacularly. Giving up in the interest of time, Margaret resorted to simply pulling her hair back in her habitual, plain old ponytail. Deeming herself close enough to presentable, she tiptoed back to her room.

Margaret noticed that Native America had found the compass under her pillow in the time she'd been gone. She would definitely need to find a better hiding place for it in the future.

"So how is this going to work?" Margaret asked as she sat on the floor to pull on her socks and sneakers.

"All we have to do is hold it, and command it to take us where we want to go," Native America explained as she examined the compass.

"Alright, I'm ready," Margaret said as she sprang to her feet and grabbed her phone and wallet from off her dresser, stuffing them in her small purse.

"Then let us go," Native America said as she too stood up. Moving to the center of the room, Margaret slung her purse over her shoulder and grinned up eagerly at Native America. They stood across from each other. The nation held out the compass and Margaret firmly placed her right hand over it.

"Take us to Washington, D.C." Native America commanded in a clear voice. A blinding surge of blue light came forth from the compass in their hands, growing in size and intensity until they were both completely engulfed by it. Within seconds the light faded again, and when it did, they were not in Michigan anymore.

It was unlike anything she'd ever seen before. Margaret gasped, feeling her small-town roots now more than ever. The two personifications stood in the middle of a sidewalk on the corner of a busy main street. Looking around in awe, Margaret saw no skyscrapers, but felt that none were needed. The beautiful architecture of the historical buildings all around her more than made up for a lack of towering steel structures. The city was aglow. Streetlamps, the headlights of traffic, and the gleaming lights from within the many buildings combined for a dazzling affect. Of the people passing by, none seemed to have noticed or were the least bit fazed by their arrival from thin air. Perhaps it was the work of the magic compass.

Margaret could only think of one way to describe the feeling that came over her as she stood for the first time in the District of Columbia, on that clear, cool night.

It felt like coming home.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Aw, thanks for all the reviews. In reward, here's the third chapter! Already. I know, I can't believe it either. Seriously, don't expect such awesome treatment in the future, especially after school starts back. I'll try to keep updates frequent, but sadly you can expect this one-chapter-a-day thing to be pretty much over.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Three

They walked down the busy street. Many different people of many different ethnicities and backgrounds drove or walked by, complete strangers all of them. And yet, Margaret felt a strange connection to them all- as if she somehow knew them. The people she met gazes with all smiled and waved, inexplicably happy to see her. Every. Single. One. As an American herself, Margaret knew very well that Americans were usually friendly, but even she could tell that this incredible treatment was out of the ordinary. It made absolutely no sense. The only explanation Margaret could think of was that they felt the connection too. No one seemed to see or hear Native America, whose odd apparel should have attracted attention under normal circumstances. Margaret correctly chalked this up to some work of magic, and didn't bother to question it.

Margaret gawked at everything they passed by, taking in the sight of every store, restaurant, church… There was simply too much to see, and far too little time to see it.

"Do you wish to visit the White House?" Native America asked.

"Oh, I would love that!" Margaret answered excitedly, her blue eyes shining with delight.

While the personifications of Native America and D.C. made their way to Capitol Hill, the personification of the United States of America, Alfred. F. Jones, was walking home after working overtime in the White House. He always enjoyed walking through his capital at night, for it was truly beautiful. America loved his people, and went among them whenever he could, and tonight was no exception. The city lights shone all around the proud nation, bringing a smile to his face.

Abruptly, America stopped in his tracks as he felt a distinct chill go down his spine. Turning to look across the street from where he stood, America thought he caught a glimpse of someone he hadn't seen in a very long time. Heart in his throat, he blinked disbelievingly- and then she was gone.

 _Was that… could it be…?_

It should be impossible. But… but he had to know for sure. America waited impatiently for the traffic to stop so he could cross the street, and by so doing he discovered that wishing strongly for a traffic light to change will have no effect on how quickly it actually does. The instant it was safe, America practically sprinted across. He stood on the corner, right where she had been. Searching frantically all around, he could see no trace of her anywhere. Shoulders slumping, America berated himself for his foolishness. For some reason the false hope hurt now more than any of the other times, and to his embarrassment America found himself fighting back tears.

"Whatever is the matter, child?"

America stiffened. Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, he looked up. He met her eyes.

"…Mother?"

Native America smiled, and rushed forward, and all at once she was embracing him in a crushing bear hug.

" _Mum!_ " America sobbed, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face her chest, just like he had done all those centuries ago.

"Shh, now. I'm here, child."

For a moment they were still, each silently rejoicing and content just to be in the other's arms.

"How…?" That was all America could ask as he finally pulled back to look at her.

"I got permission to come here on an important errand," Native America explained. "I wanted to see you."

"I've missed you, Mum," America admitted. "Canada has too."

"I know," she said softly. "I wish I could have visited your brother as well, but my mission lies here."

"What is it?" America wondered.

Native America's expression grew solemn.

"I've brought someone here, someone of great importance to you. I think you will like her very much- I've already become rather fond. I want you to go and find her. I left her at the gates."

"You're leaving? Already?" America implored. Native America looked sorrowful.

"I'm afraid I must. I've spent too long as it is, much longer than allowed. But before I go, you must promise me something." The Ancient's figure was beginning to fade, and America's heart ached at the sight.

"Promise me that you will protect and care for her as a sister. She is young and scared, just as you were when I found you. Promise me!"

America swallowed the lump in his throat.

"I promise," he agreed. Native America's smile grew tender as the last of her faded away, leaving America standing all alone. He heard a single word whispered on the wind.

 _"_ _Goodbye."_

America stood in place for a moment, contemplative. At last, as if roused from a dream, he blinked and straightened. Turning on his heels, he made his way briskly back to the White House.

He had a promise to keep.

Meanwhile, Margaret was lost. She nervously fingered the compass around her neck. Native America had given it to her shortly after their arrival in Washington. The trouble was that now she didn't know if she should use it. Margaret had turned away from her companion only briefly to gaze at the splendor of the capitol building for the first time, only to turn back around and find herself utterly alone.

So now here she was, slumped against the gates that barred the entrance to the White House. Normally, she would have enjoyed standing in that historical place a lot more than she currently was. Worry diminished any joy she could derive from it. Should she wait? Should she try to go home? Time was rapidly ticking by, and before long she would have to go back home or risk her family discovering her absence.

The sun decided the matter for her. When she saw the beginnings of natural light on the horizon, Margaret sighed and held the compass out in her hands. Like it or not, it was time.

"Take me home," she said clearly.

"WAIT!"

Just as the compass began to glow, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Whirling around, all she saw was a pair of concerned, clear blue eyes before the magic power of the compass whisked her away. Standing alone and shaken in the center of her bedroom, Margaret realized that somehow, she had recognized him.

" _America?_ " she whispered incredulously.

America was left grasping the air where she'd been. Wide-eyed and trembling, he slowly sank to his knees. There was no denying the connection he had felt. The instant he'd laid eyes on her, he knew. But now, after reaching her, only for her to be ripped cruelly away, he was left with the terrible, aching realization that he'd just lost his capital. His nation's very heart had been personified, and he'd _lost_ her. Not only that but he'd broken his promise…

Wait. Not yet. He could still find her again.

America's shocked and devastated expression changed into a look of pure determination. Getting up, America reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, calling the first contact on his list.

"Mattie," he said immediately when the other picked up. "I need your help, as soon as possible. It's important."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks again to all my followers and reviewers! I'm so glad people like this story so far. It might be a while before I can update again, thanks to the start of school, but I'll try my best to do so as soon as possible.**

 **Enjoy!**

Chapter Four

"I need your help, as soon as possible. It's important."

Canada blinked sleepily and glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand.

"Alfred, do you know how early it is?"

"Yes, and I'm sorry, but I really need you right now," America answered, worry clear in his voice. Now fully alert, Canada frowned in concern as he swung his feet out of bed.

"What's wrong?"

"…I don't think I can explain it over the phone. Actually, I don't think I should. The line might not be secure…" Canada heard America mutter on the other end. Canada knew that if America was being this paranoid about it, whatever the issue was, it had to be serious.

"Do you need me to come?" Canada asked.

"Can you?" America asked hopefully. "I'll pay for expenses and everything. If you need a jet, I've got a-"

"Its fine, Alfred," Canada cut him off. "I can handle it. What time do you want me to be there?"

"As soon as you can."

"Alright. The latest I'll be in D.C. is this afternoon."

"Thanks, Mattie." The relief was palpable in America's voice.

"Alfred?"

"Yeah?"

"This had better be freaking important."

"…It is," America said grimly. "Just keep me updated on your flight. I gotta go, bye!"

He hung up. Canada stared at his phone, unsure what to make of the conversation he'd just had. One thing was clear, though. He had to get to Washington. Sighing, the Canadian looked up his contacts list. If he was going to make this work, he had a few calls of his own to make.

Meanwhile, America strode into the White House. Everyone he passed easily recognized him, and he had no difficulty making his way to the Oval Office. Hesitating just outside the doors, America considered what he would say. After trying and failing to think of an explanation that wouldn't sound ridiculous, he decided to just wing it. Squaring his shoulders, America strode confidently inside room as if he owned it. It was vacant except for the President, who merely sighed with annoyance and didn't even bother looking up over his giant pile of paperwork.

"America? What are you doing here? Didn't you finish your work?"

"I did, but something's come up."

Something in America's tone caught the President's attention, and he straightened in his chair, meeting the nation's serious gaze.

"This isn't a social call," the President realized. America shook his head.

"Unfortunately, no."

"Is this a matter of national security?" the President asked bluntly.

"Yes."

"Start talking."

"I believe Washington D.C. has been personified."

The President stared.

"…Isn't that impossible?"

"I thought it was, but apparently it's not," America admitted.

"How do you know?" the President asked skeptically. America was not fazed by the man's apparent disbelief.

"I'm a nation. I am the United States of America. I can sense these things. My capital is my heart. I think I would know it when I found it."

"Are you absolutely sure this… individual, is in fact a personification?"

"I have never been so sure of anything in my life."

"And do you _know_ that they are Washington D.C.?"

"Like I know that the sky is blue," America declared in certainty.

For the second time that morning, the President heaved a sigh. He rubbed his forehead, already feeling a headache coming on.

"But for God's sakes _why_? Why would the capital be personified, and why now of all times?" the President wondered in despair, inwardly envisioning another version of Alfred wreaking havoc in the White House.

"I don't know for sure, but… I have a feeling some higher powers were involved." The President stifled a groan of resignation, and resisted the urge to bang his head on the desk.

"Alright. Where is this person? What are they like?" the President asked. He figured he'd save himself more time and trouble if he just skipped trying to discover the _how_ and _why_ of the situation, and instead focused on what needed to be done. That was one of the first things he'd learned to do when he began working with Alfred.

"Well, she seemed young. Couldn't have been out of high school. Um… average height, brown hair, blue eyes," America described.

The President rolled his eyes.

"That's all well and good, Alfred, but what's her name?"

"I don't know."

"…"

"…"

"…Well, where is she?"

"That's the problem, Mr. President. I don't know."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW?!"

And that was how the U.S. government was thrown in complete and utter disarray.

By noon later that day, Canada was lugging his suitcase and pet polar bear up to the front steps of America's private house in D.C. He knocked, but didn't have to wait long as the door was practically ripped open almost instantly.

"MATTIE!"

Canada stumbled backwards, but couldn't help but smile at being unexpectedly glomped by his twin.

"Nice to see you too, Alfred," he chuckled.

"Bro, it's been so long!" America beamed, stepping back.

"Actually, we met at the World Meeting only a few weeks ago."

"Yeah, but it felt like forever!"

Canada's smile slipped as he remembered his original purpose in coming.

"What's this all about, Alfred? It took ages to get clearance for my jet to land. Your government's all in a tizzy!"

"Ha, you said 'tizzy'!"

" _Alfred_."

"Sorry," America sighed, his expression turning downcast. "It's just I'm tired of being serious. I've been serious _literally_ all day. It sucks, man. Anyway, come on inside," he said, opening the door wider to let Canada in.

"I'll drop off your stuff in the guest room," America continued, picking up the giant suitcase despite Canada's protests. "Feel free to take a seat in the living room, you know where it is. Seriously, though. Take a seat. You won't want to be standing..." With that, the American bounded off into the far reaches of the house, hauling the suitcase with him.

Canada shrugged helplessly and made his way to the small living room. Kumajiro followed. Canada sat down on the far end of the couch, and Kumajiro lay down on the floor by his feet. The two waited patiently, until America returned a moment later. Flopping into the recliner opposite the couch, America let his true exhaustion show. Canada frowned as he studied his brother.

"You look awful," he said frankly. America groaned, covering his face.

"I know. I didn't get any sleep last night, and I wasn't able to crash this morning like I planned."

"And what, may I ask, did you spend the morning doing? You still haven't told me what's going on."

America sat up and met Canada's gaze.

"Look, Mattie. Before I get started, I'm gonna tell you right off the bat that I have no idea how or why this has happened. So don't bother asking. And please, no questions until I'm done, or else we'll both still be here by Christmas."

Canada nodded in agreement, leaning forward in his seat to listen intently as America launched into an account of everything that had happened. Unlike with the President, America left nothing out when speaking to his brother. This meant that Canada learned all about Native America's visit and instructions to America in full detail. The story was finished with the mysterious vanishing of the girl, and America's subsequent conversation with the President of the United States. When America finally stopped talking, Canada sat back and stared at his brother in stunned silence for a long moment, until at last he found his voice.

"Good God, Alfred. What are you going to do?"

America slumped in his seat.

"I have no idea, Mattie. I guess that's why I called you," the young nation admitted.

"Hmm… I suppose the first thing that needs to be done is to find this girl. Do you have any idea where to start looking?" Canada asked.

"Zero. Zip. Nada."

"That's not very helpful, Alfred," Canada chastised, sending the American a longsuffering glare.

"Weeeellll…" America drawled thoughtfully. "She did tell someone- or something- to take her home, just before she vanished."

"It sounds like magic was involved," Canada decided.

"Dude, magic doesn't exist."

"Can you really believe that after everything's that happened?" Canada prodded skeptically. America scowled.

"…I guess not."

"That's what I thought. You know, we should probably get the help of someone who's good with magic. They might have a better idea of what to do."

"Hey, Iggy's always going on about magic! We should call him!" America exclaimed, brightening immediately.

"That's fine, but I'm calling England- not you," Canada said sternly, lunging to grab the cellphone America had just fished out of his pocket.

"Why?" America pouted, but nevertheless gave up the phone to Canada's possession.

"Because he'll never take _you_ seriously."


	5. Chapter 5

**ATTENTION! ATTENTION!**

 **IMPORTANT VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE OF IMPORTANCE: Okay, so I screwed up. Looking back over the chapters I've posted so far, I realized that I have failed to make clear something of great importance in the story to my readers (hence the Important Author's Note of Importance).**

 **America does not, I repeat, DOES NOT care for Margaret personally right now. He doesn't even know her! The only reason she matters to him at all is because she's his capital. The "connection" America feels is the connection between a nation and a part of its land. America's reasons for searching for her are as follows:**

 **1) She's the personification of his capital. It's in the interest of national security to at least keep an eye on her.**

 **2) His promise to Native America. It invoked in him a sense of responsibility, which was only compounded when he saw for himself how young she was.**

 **3) She's the personification of his capital. OF COURSE HE'S CURIOUS.**

 **I know that it's not a good sign when a writer has to rely on an author's note like this one to get the true character motivations across. I'll probably go back and edit this story after I've finished it to try and make it less crappy. *curls up in a dark corner and quietly dies of humiliation***

 **Also, while I'm writing a freakishly long author's note, I thought I should go ahead and announce that there will be NO SLASH. NEVER. NOT HAPPENING, SORRY. I can't write the stuff to save my life, and quite frankly I don't want to.**

 **Margaret is not about to be anyone's love interest anytime soon. At least, not until much later in the story. The focus of this story is not romance. I'm not saying there will be none, but relationships in this story will be predominately friendship and familial.**

 **Okay, moving on. Introducing the next chapter! Reviews are always welcome and make great motivators. I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Five

It took some polite convincing on Canada's part, but eventually England agreed to come. When the Brit showed up the next day, he was even more irritable than usual. America made the mistake of going to the airport to pick up England by himself, leaving Canada to rest back at his house. As he withered under the displeased Englishman's scrutiny, America deeply regretted this decision.

"Alright, what is so important that I just _had_ to cancel all of my previous, _actually important_ , engagements?" England snapped as he climbed into the passenger's seat of America's favorite red pickup truck.

America winced, gripping the steering wheel tightly and starting the engine all as he studiously avoided eye contact.

"Ah, well… um."

"Eloquent as always," England drawled, rolling his eyes impatiently.

It was America's turn to glare, although his was pitiable in comparison to England's stern glower. America decided England's more-than-slightly prominent eyebrows gave him an unfair advantage, and so did not let the loss dishearten him. Much.

"I'll explain when we get to the house," America mumbled, dismally turning his attention to task of driving.

As they sped down the road America didn't so much as glance at his passenger or speak a word. England was uncomfortable. The quiet was tense, and the Brit found himself growing- dare he think it? - worried for the little twat. This wasn't how they played the game. England would act posh and grumpy and America would be loud and obnoxious, and they would argue, but no one's feelings would be actually hurt because it was all just a game. Playing roles and tiptoeing around each other's true feelings and acting as everyone generally expected; that was how they coped. If they were simple frenemies, there was no need to bring up the ugly past or remove the masks they had donned after everything fell apart. They could not bear to be completely shut off from each other, not after the World Wars had brought them together again, but likewise they did not dare to go any deeper or to open up any wider. They both feared what they would find if they did.

So they had a system in place, and it was working just fine, thank you very much. But now America wasn't playing along with it, and England didn't know what to do.

"Are you alright?" England found himself asking against his better judgement, only to scowl at himself inwardly. He hadn't meant to sound so concerned.

America stiffened almost imperceptibly, distressed and torn in how he should answer. It was one thing to give Canada such sensitive information, but to tell England the whole story would be a leap of faith America wasn't sure he was ready to make. Quite frankly, this was the conversation he had been secretly dreading all day. Still, what choice did he have? None, in the end. Despite his flippant attitude, America had not made the suggestion of calling England for help- as opposed to Norway or even Romania- on a whim, however much he had striven to make it appear so in front of Canada. If he had no choice but to seek the assistance of someone from Europe, he thought it should be the one European he trusted most. He had known from the beginning that no cheerful excuse would fly. Not this time.

Well, nothing for it then.

 _"_ _Here goes,"_ America thought ruefully.

"England," America began, catching the other's attention instantly by the use of his country name. "What I'm about to tell you… Well, it's serious. I am entrusting you with highly classified information that deals with my national security. The reason you are here and we are having this conversation is because I am in need of your assistance, and my government has agreed that the unique situation calls for you being in the know."

They had reached a stop sign, and here America paused, taking the time to meet England's gaze. England blinked in shock, before gathering himself and nodding grimly for America to continue. He wisely decided not make a wisecrack about America using big words. He had a strong feeling that now was not the time for such things. The intersection cleared and they drove on. As the streets and houses passed by, America told England everything. Like with Canada, he left no detail out. Unlike with Canada, he was not comfortable doing so. He finished his account just as they pulled into his driveway. America set the parking break and turned off the engine. An oppressive, awkward atmosphere smothered the inhabitants of the still truck as England sat back, mind whirling as he tried to comprehend what he had just heard.

"You need me to find this girl?" the Brit said at last, deciding to focus on the practical thing.

"If you can. I mean, that would be… great."

Silence fell again.

"Oh look! We're here!" America said loudly, adding a nervous laugh.

"So we are," England agreed, and the two clambered out the truck, both grateful for the escape. England hauled his luggage up to the front porch (with much unwanted assistance from America), and Canada opened the door for them. As they stepped inside Canada greeted England politely and received an equally polite greeting in return. America was a little amused by the overdone formality, but kept his tongue for once. Instead, he asked to take England's belongings to the second guest room for him, an offer which England reluctantly accepted. Canada escorted the British nation to the living room where they both sat down.

"Has America filled you in?" Canada inquired.

"Yes. I think you should take me to the sight where the girl vanished as soon as possible. I have an idea what kind magic may have been used, but if I am to track this girl down I need to get there before all the traces of magic have faded away," England explained.

"We can go as soon as you're ready. There's nothing left for us to do here," Canada said.

"Yeah," America agreed, who had come back in time to hear the tail end of their conversation. "We've been over all the security footage, and I've done all the paperwork my government has thrown at me."

"Paperwork? What kind of paperwork?" Canada asked in confusion.

"Well, apparently registering a new personification is going to take a lot of work. We've done about as much as we can, but to finalize the process we need to actually know D.C.'s human identity."

"And that is where I will come in," England said determinedly.

"Then let's go!" America paused. "Uh, where are we going?"

"To the scene," Canada said with a sigh.

"Right!"

Not long after, the three nations surrounded the place where the mystery girl had disappeared. It had been blocked off by police not long after America's first discussion with the President, and England was grateful for it. The less passerby over the spot, the longer traces of magic would linger. Kneeling where America indicated, England chanted a few things under breath. Canada and America watched in fascination, not understanding a word he said. At last England stood, appearing very satisfied.

"It was a very strong magic. More than enough of it remains for me to trace it," England reported, dusting his pants off.

"You can do that?" America muttered quietly in awe. He did not really want to admit how impressive it was, but he was not able to deny it either.

"Of course I can," England said proudly. "I know just the spell to use."

"Will you need anything to perform it?" Canada asked curiously.

"I need a mirror to perform it properly, but any reflection will do."

"I don't have a mirror," America said with a frown.

"Do you think we could use the camera on my phone?" Canada asked, holding it out. "All we have to do is turn the camera around."

"That will work fine," England decided, taking the offered device. "You might want to stand back."

The two North Americans did so rather nervously. England braced himself and stood tall, holding the phone up high with the screen turned towards himself. He began to chant strange words in a language neither America nor Canada had ever heard before. Abruptly, a green light began to surround England, emitting brightly from the phone. Canada made a sound like a dismayed squeak (though he would later claim it was manly), worried about the fate of his poor cellphone.

"1633 Hickory Drive, Aucilla, Michigan!" England shouted.

Canada and America blinked at each other. Realization striking like a bolt of lightning, America scrambled to dig his own phone out of his coat pocket and hastily wrote the address in the note app. It was a good thing he did, because they would have forgotten it after what happened next. England gave a sudden cry of alarm and tossed the phone away. It blew up in midair. Canada screamed.

England scowled at the smoking remains of the device, and then turned apologetically to the Canadian.

"I'm sorry Mathew. I hoped it wouldn't do that…"

Canada's shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to buying a new cellphone.

"So was that the address? That's where she is?" America asked eagerly.

"It's where the magic took her, at any rate," England replied.

America's jubilant smile stretched from ear to ear.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'd never have found her if it weren't for you, Iggy!" America cheered, glomping the Brit.

"Y-you're very welcome," England mumbled, a light blush tinting his cheeks.

Releasing his flustered ex-guardian, America turned to Canada.

"And thank you too, Mattie!"

"You're welcome," Canada said happily, glad to be acknowledged.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to Michigan!" America declared.

"I will too," England said. "If you don't mind."

"And me," Canada added. "I came here to help you, and I'm seeing it through to the end."

"Aww, thanks, guys!" America beamed. "In that case, tomorrow, WE are going to Michigan!"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to all my wonderful readers, followers, and reviewers! You all really encourage me to keep writing.** **Anyway, sorry I didn't update sooner. I meant to have this chapter up by Friday, but life got in the way and it wasn't completed until later today.**

 **So, I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter Six

Sunlight danced cheekily on the surface of a wide, flowing river that wound its leisurely way beneath an overarching canopy of tall, ancient trees. If Margaret looked up, she could see the sky, a deep and startling clear blue, peeking through the green leaves above her. It was an undisputed fact that the park was by far the most beautiful place to be found in the small town of Aucilla. This place Margaret now enjoyed as she sat alone on a park bench near the riverside. The quiet, the peace, the solitude- they were all things she needed desperately. Shutting her eyes, she leaned back in her seat and listened to the soft babble of the rushing water.

As she relaxed, her mind wandered as aimlessly as the river before her. She did not mull over the many, many worries that had plagued her ceaselessly over the past few days. It would be a futile effort. She was well aware than no new answers could be reached. There was nothing she could do but live her life as she normally would, and act as if nothing had changed. What else was she supposed to do? She did not know the first thing about being a personification. She did not know how being Washington D.C. could affect her. She did not know if it even would. There were far too many questions, and no way to answer them except through the trial of experience.

After all, she was now guideless. Margaret had not seen any sign of either Rome or Native America since that fateful day her life was turned on its head, however much she hoped and waited in vain. She had been left high and dry, and it was that realization more than anything that began to wear her down. Stress and sleepless nights had taken their toll. Exhausted physically and mentally, she had sought a last-ditch escape from the suffocating atmosphere of her home. Her parents were tense and stressed over something they would not talk about in front of the girls, and Kate was… no help, whatsoever. She was far too busy gallivanting off into the sunset alongside her peers to bother with someone like Margaret.

Realizing that she had utterly failed to prevent her troubles from creeping back into her thoughts, Margaret took a deep breath and opened her eyes again, blinking in the light. She exhaled slowly, before reluctantly standing and casting a final, longing glance at the river. If only she could be so free as to ride the water's currents wherever they may go; maybe then the unknown would hold no fear over her.

Really, it was only chance that she retraced her steps along the same path he came down. It was pure, unadulterated luck that she rounded a bend and found him standing there. He stared at her blankly in shock, before his face stretched into an impossibly wide grin.

"I found you!"

She blinked, surprised by his triumph.

"America?" Her voice wavered in trepidation.

"That's me. And you're Washington D.C." America declared, coming forward in a few quick strides to stop in front of her just beyond arm's length.

She gulped, resisting the urge to take a step back. This was America. THE America. What was he going to do? What should she do? He stood so much taller than her that she had to look up, wide-eyed, to meet his cheerful blue gaze.

"How did you know?" she finally asked, voice soft in awe.

America's smile lessened somewhat, and his expression grew more serious.

"I'm your country, and you're my capitol. I recognized what you are the same way you recognized what I am."

Margaret continued to stare blankly, and America scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"…Sorry. I'm doing a terrible job of explaining this… Okay, let me try again. As personifications of the same land, we have a sort of connection. It's an instinct that tells us both who the other is."

It was true. Even just standing here, looking at him but not touching at all, Margaret could still hear in the farthest corners of her mind's subconscious the new, strange voice that shouted insistently, " _America, it's America_."

"Freaky…" she muttered to herself quietly. Unfortunately, not quietly enough, as America easily heard.

The nation threw back his head and laughed- a loud, real, boisterous laugh.

"I know, right?! It's like the freakiest thing ever… But darn useful, I gotta admit."

Margaret chuckled along with him, set at ease by his friendly nature, and smiled brightly for the first time in… well, a long time. However, her grin was short-lived as she suddenly remembered that, to her horror, she'd completely forgotten the manners her mother had pounded into her head from an early age.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, sir," she said nervously.

America's lips quirked in amusement.

"Hey, no need for all that 'sir' business."

"Oh. So what should I call you, Mr. America?"

America blanched. "Not that! God, that makes me sound old… My name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones!"

"That's a nice name," Margaret remarked. "What's the 'F' stand for?"

"Freedom, of course!" he winked cheekily.

"My name's Margaret Leon," she told him shyly.

"Margaret…" America said slowly, trying out the name.

Margaret had one overwhelming question that she desperately needed answered, but still she hesitated. Gathering her courage, Margaret squared her shoulders, and decided to simply come out with it.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"Well… life's going to be more complicated for you, I'm sorry to say," America replied as his manner shifted from carefree to somber. "I guess for starters… maybe we could get to know each other? I would always like a new friend."

Despite her apprehension, Margaret smiled at him.

"I'd like that too."

"Great! You know, it took a lot of work to track you down after you pulled that magic disappearing act," America said conversationally. He turned to walk down the path, and beckoned for Margaret to follow. Easily falling into step beside him, Margaret chuckled sheepishly.

"Heh… Sorry about that. Believe it or not, I used a magic compass."

"Oh, I believe it. To trace you back to this town, I had to get the help of my fath- friend. He's my friend." America faltered, flustered by his slip of the tongue. "Um. Anyway, he's England, and uh- he's really good at magic. He did some sort of track-y thingy that traced your transport-y thingy… I think."

"Well, I don't understand all this magic stuff any better than you do," Margaret revealed. "They only thing remotely magical I can do is use my compass, and that's only because I was shown how to use it."

"Where did you get it?" America asked curiously.

"Well… Rome gave it to me."

"…Hold up! You mean Ancient Rome? As in the Great Roman Empire?"

"That's the one."

"What did he say to you? Why a magic compass? Also, why didn't I get one?!"

Margaret smirked slightly.

"He was the one who told me I'd become a personification. He gave me the compass, and then later Native America showed up and taught me how to use it."

"So that's why you were in D.C. that night," America realized.

"…Yeah," Margaret said awkwardly. Glancing away, she added quickly, "I'm really, really sorry! I didn't mean to vanish… well I did… but when you shouted for me it was kinda too late. The magic was already working."

"Don't worry about it. We met again anyway, didn't we?" America reassured her.

"By the way, how did you know I was at the park?"

"I actually didn't. I just came here for a bit of a breather, if you know what I mean. England and Canada both came with me to Michigan and… well, they're family. I love 'em, but sometimes…"

"I know how you feel. I actually came here for a similar reason," Margaret admitted softly.

"Oh, you have a family?" America tried to smile, but it seemed a bit strained to Margaret. Almost worried. "As in, a human family?"

"Of course I do," Margaret replied cautiously. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just… never mind." But America's eyes had darkened significantly, and Margaret had caught on that something was amiss. Disturbed, she stopped in her tracks. America stopped too.

"What is going to happen to me?" she demanded, fear lending her unusual audacity.

"Nothing! Nothing's going to happen. I'm not going to do anything to you, if that's what you're thinking," America said fiercely, glowering a bit.

Margaret flinched slightly, subconsciously taking a step away from him. The nation's regard immediately softened as he noticed her unease.

"It's just… I'm worried, okay? It's dangerous, and painful, and stupid to live with a human family," America told her bluntly.

"They are my family," Margaret responded coldly, her previously meek will hardening. She could be Washington D.C., if that was what the world wanted from her. The one thing she would not do was leave her family.

"I know, I know… Just be careful, okay? That's all I ask," America said in a placating tone, raising his hands slightly in surrender. _"For now, anyway,"_ he added internally.

Before Margaret could think of a reply, her cellphone rang.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This one was hard to write. Sorry it took so long! I've been busy with school, mostly, and haven't had much to time to myself. Anyway, thank you to all my wonderful readers, reviewers, and followers!**

 **I hope you all enjoy!**

Chapter Seven

The phone's ring shattered the silence, cutting through the air like a knife. No one moved. The phone rang again, breaking the spell. Margaret reached into her pocket and withdrew the device, glancing at the caller I.D.

"It's my mother," she said flatly. "Sorry, but I'll have to take this."

America simply nodded, and she answered the phone. Her mother's irate voice screeched at her, so deafeningly that Margaret recoiled and had to hold the phone away from her ear. The shouting on the other end was loud enough that America could hear everything said as clearly as if the device were on speaker phone.

"MARGARET! Where the heck are you?! What were you thinking, running off like that? And at a time like this...!"

"But Mom, I told you I was going-" Margaret was cut off.

"We're supposed to be leaving for your grandfather's house right now! If you'd pay attention to somebody other than yourself now and then, you would have known that. If you're not home in fifteen minutes, we're leaving without you. Get back here now… and get your head out of the clouds while you're at it!"

"But couldn't you just swing by the park and pick me-" Margaret was cut off again as her mother hung up. Margaret stared blankly at her phone.

"But I could've _sworn_ no one told me about this trip… I must have really screwed up to make her this mad," she muttered to herself. Turning back to America, who looked more than a little awkward standing there, she attempted a smile that came out more like a grimace.

"I'm sorry, but I really need to book it home," she told him, and then added to herself, "Even if I sprint the whole way I probably won't make it back in time… of all the days to not bring my bike…!"

"If you need a ride, I have a truck parked just over there. I can drop you off near your house," America offered.

"Sorry, but my parents told me not to accept rides from strangers," Margaret said with a grin.

"Hey! I'm not a stranger, we've met officially. If there's anyone you can trust, it's me- after all, I'm the hero!" America said this all with what he probably thought was a dashing grin, and he even struck a heroic pose at the end.

The previous tension had been successfully diffused, leading Margaret to laugh and gratefully accept his offer. They walked together over to America's bright red pickup truck and clambered in. America turned slightly in his seat and addressed Margaret.

"Do you mind telling me where to go? I know the street address already, but I'm not sure exactly _where_ it is. This place sure has changed since the last time I saw it…"

"When was that?" Margaret asked curiously.

"I forget the year, but I think it was just before WW1," America said casually.

"You… you've been around that long?" Margaret stammered. A terrible feeling was forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Yeah, ever since the colony days… heck, even before that." His eyes grew distant, no doubt seeing memories of things centuries past. Shaking himself from his thoughts, America managed a nostalgic, weary smile and put the vehicle into gear. As they drove out of the parking lot, Margaret absently pointed in the direction they should go. She reflected on what America had said and dearly wished she hadn't.

"We're immortal," she realized aloud, voice shaken with horror. Oh, she'd suspected it before then, but denial is a powerful thing. If you do not _want_ to know something, sometimes you can enforce your own blissful ignorance, even if all the signs around you indicate the cold reality you don't want to believe. But now Margaret had forever lost her shield of obliviousness, and was left standing defenseless in the face of a terrifying truth.

"You didn't know? Our kind lives for as long as our people and lands remain."

"But… that means…" she trailed off, unable to finish.

"You're going to outlive everyone you've ever known." America's voice cracked with sorrow, and for a second he faltered, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. But then his expression of pain was veiled as his will hardened. He pushed on ruthlessly.

"That's part of what I was trying to warn you about. Not only will your lifespan surpass those of your family, but you won't even get to age normally. Physically, your aging process could last for centuries before you reach maturity. Most likely, you'll be stuck looking sixteen for at least several human lifespans."

Although the words were harsh in their bluntness, America's tone was soft- sorrowful, as if he held a deep and hidden regret. He winced internally even as he finished speaking. He was being far curter than intended, but he _had_ to be. There was no room for ignorance… not here, not on this subject. He was all too familiar with the pain that accompanied watching everyone leave you behind, and not knowing why.

For a long moment, Margaret couldn't speak. Her world was fracturing all around her, and any hope of maintaining even the façade of normalcy, any hope for a regular life… all of it was fading. The only thing that prevented her from breaking down into tears of despair right then and there was the desire to remain strong, or at the very least appear so, in front of America. She still had her pride, if nothing else. Cut all losses and keep her pride, wasn't that just what she'd always done? Maybe later, in the privacy of her room, she could suffer the heartbreak and grieve the loss of the life she'd wanted. But for now, she could not afford to be so vulnerable.

They rode in silence the rest of the way. Margaret gave the directions to her home, her voice blank and her face set as stone. It was no mask that she donned; her thoughts and feelings really were so numb. America pulled up alongside the curb a house or two down from Margaret's. He didn't want to risk her family seeing her get out of his truck. He felt a little guilty about it, but reasoned that it would be better to avoid the hassle of explaining to complete strangers why he'd dropped their daughter off. He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

 _"_ _I screwed this entire thing up,"_ America thought to himself dismally.

"I'm sorry," was all he could say. Margaret finally tore her empty gaze from the window and looked up at him.

"Don't be," she said. "Thank you for telling me the truth. And for the ride."

"No problem," America replied, lacking his usual boisterousness. "Look, do you think maybe we could meet up at the park again sometime? England and Canada will want to meet you… I think you'll like them."

"…Sure. That will be nice," Margaret answered dully. Out of a sense of courtesy, she gathered any last shreds of happiness she could and mustered an attempt at a smile. It was pathetic.

"If I give you my number, will you text me about a time and place?" she asked.

"Oh… sure."

She gave him the number, stepped out of the truck, thanked him again, and waved goodbye. Then, without another word, she turned around and began the short walk the rest of the way home. As she walked, she thought about the immediate future. It would not take long before her family realized something was off about her. For every year that passed and she stayed the same, people would notice. She had hoped to never tell a soul about her new identity as Washington D.C., thinking that nothing much would change in her life. But now the clock was ticking, and one day she would have no choice but to face her family with the truth.

 _"_ _Not today,"_ she decided. _"Maybe later, when I know what to say, I'll tell them."_

The ride to her grandfather's house was long and awkward. Perhaps not as tense as the one she'd just had with America, but the extended duration of it certainly made it harder to endure. It was obvious that something was wrong. The lighthearted atmosphere her family had enjoyed on previous road trips was nowhere to be found. Margaret's mood was already morbid, but the attitudes of those around her hardly helped. Her father glowered at them all and acted is if it would be the end of the world if their family was a few minutes late. His driving was that much more aggressive. Margaret's mother, on the hand, had completely lost the angry tempter she'd had before and now acted morose. Her eyes were suspiciously red, but she would not say if she had been crying when Margaret asked in concern. Kate was oblivious as always, content to put on her headphones and listen to her music, ignoring all else. Margaret would have happily joined her, except her own headphones had been lost the day previous and she had yet to find them. In the end, to entertain herself she resorted to looking out the window and counting the trees their family's minivan zipped by.

Margaret could not have been more relieved when they finally pulled up in her grandfather's driveway. Everyone piled out and they were quickly welcomed in to the warm old house by a tall, elderly man with a halo of white hair.

"Grandad!" she cried, springing forward to hug him.

"Maggie!" he laughed, kindly blue eyes shining down at her. Not to be outdone, Kate tackled them both into a colossal bear hug.

"And Kate! I swear, you girls get taller, prettier, and smarter every time I see you! Must be the genes from your Grandma – they sure as heck weren't from me!"

They all laughed. Margaret beamed, momentarily forgetting all the troubles of the day.

"It's so good to see you!" she enthused.

"Likewise. Has school started yet?" Grandad asked as they walked further into the house.

"No, not yet. It will in about a week."

"Well, good luck. You're going to need it!" he chuckled. "I always said school's a prison."

"Excuse me," Margaret's mother interrupted, "But is everything in the kitchen?"

"Oh yes, yes! The pantry is stocked, I went grocery shopping the other day. Are you sure you don't want me to cook? You can go take a load off in the-" Grandad was cut off as Mom interrupted, looking slightly terrified at the prospect of Grandad fixing dinner.

"No, it's alright. I'll cook tonight."

"Nobody ever wants me to cook," he complained, making his slow way to the living room. Margaret and her father followed, but Kate went after Mom into the kitchen to help fix dinner, no doubt with the ulterior motive of ensuring that a proper dessert was made. Margaret looked around at the living room's décor, recalling where each piece had come from, and the multitude of small stories that came with each. She marveled at how well her grandfather had settled into this house in the course of only a few months. The season after Grandma had died was hard for them all, but most especially Grandad. Still, even without his other half, he always managed to fill whatever place he inhabited with life. The old house he'd moved into when he came up north to be closer to their family was no exception. Already, it seemed so much warmer and brighter and more welcoming than the neglected, haunted place it had been before.

No sooner had they all settled, Dad and Grandad on the couch and Margaret in a nearby chair, when Dad's cellphone rang. He looked up the caller ID and grimaced.

"Sorry, I need to take this," he explained quickly, springing up and leaving the room to go talk privately. Margaret watched him go curiously, wondering what it could possibly be.

"So, it's just me and you," Grandad declared, breaking the silence.

"Brings back memories," Margaret said wryly. Back when they all lived down south, she and Kate were often left at their grandparents' house while their parents worked. While Kate and Grandma both loved the outdoors and habitually went out into the garden, Grandad had stayed indoors in the library or living room and Margaret had kept him company.

"That was back when you thought I was interesting," Grandad teased.

"I still do!" Margaret protested. "In fact…"

She moved from the chair and flopped down next to him, snuggling into the couch and smiling as she echoed the precious words she used to say every day.

"Will you tell me a story?"

"Why, what kind of story, young lady?" Grandad asked in mock seriousness, but he smiled in glee nevertheless.

"Any! Any kind you want," Margaret said. At that moment, it was her phone's turn to go off, only instead of ringing it was the ding that signaled a text message. Scowling, Margaret fished her phone out with the intention of turning the stupid thing off. She'd had enough with phones for one day. But as she did so, the screen was lit up with the message:

" _Hey Margaret, this is the heroic Alfred F. Jones! Here's my number, send me a text when ya can! The others want to meet you."_

Margaret hastily turned the phone off, but by then it was too late. Grandad had read the text. His expression clouded for a long moment, before it cleared and he looked at Margaret with sharp, knowing eyes.

"I just thought of a story I haven't told you yet. It's the story of a man I used to know."

Both relieved and curious, Margaret nodded for him to continue.

"You know I served in the military. I was in the Air Force, worked as a mechanic and part of ground crew. I never actually flew, but I knew many who did. There was one odd young pilot in particular who I remember with strange clarity to this day. He was a brilliant flier, fiercely patriotic, and was one of those types you just couldn't help but like. Nothing was ever dull with him around. But there were moments, when we talked and laughed, that I felt intuitively that something was different about him. Out of the blue he'd say something that sounded just a little too… old, for a young'un like him. He acted too much like a veteran for someone who'd supposedly volunteered right out of college. Sometimes he'd get this faraway look in his eye, and even though I knew it was impossible, I could've sworn this wasn't the first war he'd seen."

Here the old man paused in his tale to catch his breath. Margaret was fully enraptured by the story, and leaned closer.

"I still don't know what possessed me to do what I did. I looked up the old military records, dug around and did some research. My findings… they were unbelievable, but there was no denying the evidence before me. The same face, the same name, the same _person_ …. Record after record of that very pilot throughout history, never changing. As far as I could tell, he'd fought in every American war this country has seen. That man… if he was a man, was surely immortal."

"But isn't that impossible?" Margaret asked quietly. It was a rhetorical question. She knew the truth already.

"And that is why I never told a soul. Besides, I figured if he really was some kind of super human, the last thing I wanted to do was bring down trouble over his head by mentioning his name to the paparazzi and authorities."

There was a long moment of silence as his story ended.

"This is part where you call me out on telling a tall tale."

"I can't," was all Margaret said.

"Dinner's ready!" her mother called from the kitchen. Grateful for the escape, Margaret stood to go, but her Grandad's hand on her arm stopped her.

"You know, I never forgot the name of that man," he said.

"What was it?" Margaret asked, feeling as if she were walking to the noose.

"Alfred F. Jones. A strange coincidence, isn't it?"


End file.
